With Love From Miss Kitty
by Shellecah
Summary: When Chester's loneliness compels him to drink a bottle of whiskey, Matt suggests a questionable cure.
1. Chapter 1

Like the prairie flower with soft white petals, Miss Kitty's face had a faraway look, her blue eyes likely fixed on a place somewhere outside the Long Branch, a bright dream place with only herself and Mr. Dillon there. They had more time for each other in summer, as the heat made folks too sluggish to break the law much.

As he approached Miss Kitty at the end of the bar that muggy night, Chester reckoned just part of her would chat and smile and listen to him. The rest of her would be with Mr. Dillon, even though he wasn't at the Long Branch now. He'd gone to the Lady Gay, where some cowboys got to fighting over cards.

"Miss Kitty." Chester tipped his hat and leaned on the bar beside her, not smiling as he usually did when he greeted her.

"Chester," said Kitty. "You tired?"

"A speck."

"Sour stomach still bothering you?" said Kitty.

"Ah'm 'bout mended. Doc says take it easy an' don't eat nothin' like fried chicken yet. I git wore down if I work too hard."

"No danger of that," said Kitty.

"Well . . . no. I 'spect not." Chester lowered his head and looked at the bar, studying the polished wood. He hadn't tried his hand at carving in a spell. Maybe he'd whittle a bird.

"Want a beer?" said Kitty. "On the house."

Chester turned his gaze to her, his brown eyes gloomy. "Thank you, Miss Kitty. Can I have whiskey?"

"Sure. Sam, a whiskey for Chester."

"I'll take a bottle, Sam," said Chester. "I got the money for it, Miss Kitty. Less the drink you're buyin' for me."

"You bought a bottle for the marshal's office yesterday," said Kitty.

"That un's settin' in the desk drawer, ain't been opened. Mr. Dillon wouldn't want me drinkin' it, seein' as the marshal's till money pays fer thet bottle."

"Why do you need another bottle," said Sam. He and Kitty knew that Chester grew tipsy after two full glasses, and three made him drunk.

"I'm payin' for it, Sam," Chester said snappishly, "so you hand it over. I don't see you askin' them other men what buys a bottle."

"What're you barkin' about, Chester," said Sam.

"Now don't start yelling at Sam," said Kitty. "I'd like to know what you want a whiskey bottle for, too, Chester."

"Wahl, Miss Kitty, I jest do. A body oughter be able ta buy a bottle in a saloon without answerin' a heap a questions."

"Miss Kitty?" said Sam.

"Give him the bottle, Sam," said Kitty, looking at Chester. "I hope you're not thinking on getting drunk, Chester."

Chester made no reply. He pulled some coins from his pocket, slapped them on the bar, picked up the bottle and glass and moved to a table.

Sam stepped close to Kitty and they watched Chester. "Wonder what's eating him," said Kitty. "He wasn't grumpy even when he was sick in bed."

"You don't get pettish 'til you're on the mend," said Sam. "That's the way it is with me anyway."

Kitty looked up at Sam in surprise. "You're never pettish, Sam," she said.

A small grin creased Sam's craggy face. "I just don't let it show, Miss Kitty." Which was true. Sam showed little emotion, yet Kitty wholly trusted him. He was kind, steady and reliable, and as loyal a friend as any man in town; and Kitty felt sure that when he left the job, she would sell the Long Branch and leave Dodge, her love for Matt notwithstanding. Unless Matt proposed marriage, and after years of intimacy he showed no sign that asking Kitty to be his wife entered his head.

Chester threw back the glass of whiskey, gasped and coughed. He preferred beer, and when he did drink whiskey he generally sipped it. He grimaced, filled the glass to the brim and gulped half of it, which was all he could swallow at once. He coughed again, hunched his shoulders and shuddered, and his face contorted.

"Sam," said Kitty, "he _is _getting drunk. He'll make himself awful sick if he drinks that whole bottle. Chester can't take that much whiskey."

Sam shook his head. "Fool thing to do on the heels of a stomach ailment," he said. "You want me to take it away from him, Miss Kitty?"

"No," said Kitty. "He'll have a time forgiving me or you if you stop him. Maybe if I talk to him."

She moved to the table as Chester drained his second glass. "Chester," said Kitty. "Mind if I sit down? I been on my feet awhile."

Chester looked at her, his eyes already bleary, then startled and jumped up as he remembered his manners. "Miss Kitty," he said, pulling out a chair for her. He couldn't recollect ever wanting to sit alone and drink rather than chat with her, when he had her to himself particular, like now, but tonight he did wish to sit by himself and get drunk. He'd never move to another table though or ask her to go away.

"You drank two," said Kitty, as he filled his glass a third time.

"Now Miss Kitty," said Chester, slurring a bit, "I done set ma mind on drinkin' the last drop, if you do set and watch."

"Chester, why drink it all and get sick if two makes you feel better."

Chester hesitated and frowned, considering. "It's still there," he said. "I wanna drink 'til it's all washed away."

" 'Til what's washed away," said Kitty.

" 'Tain't nothin' to bother you 'bout, Miss Kitty." Chester picked up the glass and eyed her uneasily.

"Well go ahead," said Kitty. "I've seen you get drunk before."

"You look more troubled this time," said Chester. "I don't want you worryin' 'bout the likes of me."

"I _am_ more worried, Chester. 'Cause you're still getting over stomach gripe." Kitty hoped to discomfort him enough so he'd stop drinking from that bottle.

"If I get sick, I get sick." Chester drank the glassful down without pause.

Kitty felt a rush of irritation bordering on anger. "Alright," she said. "You're set on making a drunken fool of yourself. I wouldn't have sold you the bottle, but I thought you had better sense." She scraped back her chair, stood and went to the bar.

Miss Kitty tempering at Chester stirred a sore tightness in his chest, atop the gut emptiness that had nothing to do with hunger and made him feel like a misty shadow. He refilled the glass with an unsteady hand, splashing whiskey on the table.

When he finished the bottle within an hour, his shirt was stained with whiskey, and he'd spilled little puddles on the table. He rested his arms, shoulders and face on the table and passed out.

Kitty wouldn't let herself watch Chester drink. She kept busy serving drinks and chatting with the men until Sam caught her attention and inclined his head toward Chester.

"Oh no, Sam," said Kitty.

"Do you think the marshal will blame me?" said Sam. "I feel responsible, Miss Kitty."

"No," said Kitty. "I made the decision to sell him the whiskey, and Matt won't blame me, either. Chester drank that bottle, so he's the one responsible. He can be mulish when the mood takes him. Matt knows that." Kitty knew Matt wouldn't blame her, as he rarely found fault with her for anything, even when she was at fault.

"Should I put him to bed upstairs?" said Sam.

"Matt will be here any minute," said Kitty. "He said he'd be by tonight. He'll take care of Chester."

"It doesn't seem right, leaving him to lie on the table," said Sam. "Maybe I should take him to Doc's."

"Here's Matt now," said Kitty, as the marshal pushed through the batwings. "Matt will take care of him," she repeated.

Matt habitually, almost unconsciously, scoped any room he entered, and he saw Chester sprawled over the table with the glass and empty whiskey bottle when he walked in the Long Branch. As he moved to the table, Kitty left the bar and met him there. "He's passed out drunk," said Kitty. "I tried to stop him."

"It's not your fault, Kitty," said Matt, as she'd known he would.

"He drank the whole bottle," Sam said from the bar. "I was about to take him to Doc's when you came in."

"He might not need Doc," said Matt. "Best let him sleep it off." He put a hand on Chester's shoulder. _"Chester." _His friend didn't stir. His shoulder under Matt's palm felt hot, his shirt was sweaty and he reeked of whiskey. "You got any smelling salts, Kitty?" said Matt.

"I keep some on hand for the girls," said Kitty, hurrying back to the bar. She returned with a vial and handed it to Matt, who unstopped it and held it under Chester's nose.

Chester came to with a snort. His eyes widened and he smacked his hands over his mouth and staggered toward the side door, gagging. Sam rushed to the door and opened it, and Chester stumbled through the doorway. Sam followed him and opened the back door leading to the alley, and Chester reeled to the outhouse.

"Well at least he's bringing it all up. I'm afraid he'll be real sick after though," said Kitty. "He's still recovering from sour stomach."

"I'll put him to bed and have Doc take a look at 'im," said Matt.

"Do you know what's troubling him, Matt?" said Kitty. "He won't tell me."

Unless a real problem existed outside Chester's head, figuring what disturbed him at any given time did not usually occur to Matt. His friend was both easygoing and temperamental; that was just Chester, and the thought of talking out his trouble felt awkward to Matt. He was sure Chester would feel the same.

"I don't know," said the marshal. "Maybe you could take some outings with him, Kitty. Go fishing."

"Then he's lonely?" said Kitty. "We haven't paid him much attention this summer, Matt."

"Kitty, you said you wanted us to do more together this summer. You and me."

"I _do_. And we are. I don't want us neglecting Chester, though."

Chester tottered back in through the side door. "I best say goodnight now, Miss Kitty," he said. "Ah'm feelin' a l'il poorly." He tried to tip his hat and gave up when his fingers couldn't find the brim.

"Alright, Chester," said Kitty.

As he shuffled to the batwings, his left leg buckled, the lame leg splayed to the side and he fell on his back. The marshal moved to him, wrapped his arms around Chester's ribs and pulled him up, and slung his arm over Matt's shoulder.

"See ya, Kitty," said Matt.

"Goodnight, Matt."

The night had cooled somewhat with a breeze, and the air was drier. Chester sagged against Matt, his chin resting on his chest. Almost asleep on his feet, he tripped every few steps.

Doc likely had gone to bed, and Matt saw no reason to wake him. Matt would spend the night at the marshal's office and go for Doc in the morning if Chester felt too poorly come sunup.

Chester let out a snore before Matt lowered him to his bed and pulled off his boots. The jail cells were empty, and Matt chose the near one to bunk for the night. He took off his boots and lay down, and thought on his talk at the Long Branch with Kitty.

Matt figured it wasn't his company Chester missed, as his friend craved the companionship of fine women like he needed food and water. All the better if the women were young and pretty, although that was not a requirement. Chester often called on Ma Smalley, and visited a widow lady in her eighties. Matt linked his fingers behind his head, crossed his ankles and grinned in the darkness. Ma was the best cook in town, and the widow lady was known for her delicious pies.

Some time had passed since Chester courted a girl, and as he gave scant attention lately to the Long Branch gals, Matt guessed he had a hankering to court a lady. The few unmarried ladies in town showed no interest in Chester, nor were they a suitable match for him.

Though Chester was especially fond of Kitty, he valued his friendship with Matt too much to make advances to her. Kitty loved Chester as a friend, and though she'd never said so to Matt, he was tolerably sure she liked the way Chester looked, too. Which didn't mean she'd ever considered treating him as more than a friend. If she did, Matt would know. Or he thought he would.

The marshal scrubbed his fingers through his curling waves of hair and shook his head, unsure why his thoughts trailed this way. An idea was forming in his head, as if he had nothing to do with it. It was quirky and risky, and out of touch with Matt's pragmatic nature. The idea could strengthen Chester's spirits, or confuse and cause him misery, and Matt shrank from the thought of bringing further distress on his friend.

Matt attributed the notion to too much sun, and wondered if his head was fevered. He touched his palm to his forehead, which felt warm and damp from the jail's humid air but not hot. He disliked the idea for his own sake, yet was willing to suggest it to help Chester. Matt would sleep on it and decide in the morning.

He raised up on his elbows and listened, and heard Chester's soft regular snoring, which meant he wasn't comatose. The marshal turned on his side, closed his eyes and drifted into a restful, dreamless sleep.

An early riser, Matt was out of bed at daybreak. Chester lay on his stomach, his hands tightly cupped around his head. "Chester?" said Matt.

Chester rolled over still clutching his head. His face looked sallow and drawn, his eyes puffy and ringed with dark circles. "Ah'm turrible sick, Mr. Dillon. The sour belly come back, and ma head's fit to bust."

"Seeing you drank a bottle of whiskey when you're gettin' over the gripes, that's expected," said Matt. "I'll get Doc to look you over."

Chester stayed in bed while the marshal quickly washed and shaved and ran a comb through his hair, pausing often to give his friend a searching look. Except to move his hands from their grasp on his head to cover his eyes as the sun rose, Chester lay quietly.

Matt strapped on his gunbelt and put on his hat. "I'm goin' for Doc," he said. "You want some water?" Chester mumbled something that sounded like "No," so Matt went out.

The sun was already white-hot and the air heavy with moisture despite the early hour. As he headed for Doc's, Matt pondered the idea that had come to him last night. He'd share it with Kitty and see what she thought before mentioning it to Doc.

Doc saw nothing out of the way in Chester downing a bottle of whiskey. Though he normally drank no more than two beers a day, on occasion he'd get drunk, at times for reasons Doc figured were nebulous to Chester himself. Doc would treat whatever illness the whiskey caused without dwelling on why, at least not hard or for long.

"Alcohol poisoning most likely," said Doc, loading his bag. "Chester's not the kind of body can take a whole bottle in one sitting and get over it easy, particularly since he's mending from the stomach gripes."

When Matt returned to the marshal's office with Doc, Chester lay in bed on his back, his arms crossed over his eyes. Doc sat on the bed and moved Chester's arms away from his head. He was grimacing, his eyes squinted to slits until he saw Doc, and the strain faded from his face. His eyes formed their natural large round shape, blinking at Doc.

"Chester," said Doc. "Had too much to drink last night, did you?"

"I drunk a bottle, Doc." Doc lifted Chester's lids with his thumb and peered at the whites of his eyes, looked at his tongue and listened to his heart.

"Don't poke at ma belly," said Chester. "I kin tell you it hurts."

"You poisoned yourself, what you did," said Doc. "You'll need some bed rest, then take it easy awhile when you get up."

Doc took a bottle of stomach bitters and one of peppermint, and some headache powders out of his bag and put them on the table. "I'll leave these here," he said, and handed Matt a flat tin box. "Ginger root," said Doc. "Sliced fresh. I keep it on hand for belly sickness, and it's good for cleansing the blood. Put that to boil for a tea, Matt, and I'll fix a medicinal."

Doc mixed two spoonfuls of stomach bitters, two of peppermint and a packet of headache powder in a cup of warm water as Chester watched the preparations with interest. "Sit up and drink this, Chester," said Doc. "You'll start feeling better in a minute or two."

Chester drained the cup. "It's curin' me a'ready," he said. "I thought last night on whittlin' me out a bird, Mr. Dillon. Seein' as I haveta rest. I cud spread newspaper on the floor by my bed to catch the shavings."

"Doc says rest," said Matt.

"The belly pain done eased though," Chester argued. "In my head too. I cain't lay flat doin' nothin' the day long."

"The pain will come back off and on," said Doc. "Take some more medicine when it does, and sip the ginger tea all day. I'll check you out again tomorrow morning, see if you're alright to get up. Don't eat anything 'til I say so, and no coffee. Just the tea, and medicine in warm water."

"Don't feel like victuals no how," said Chester. "Ah'd scarce swallow 'fore heavin' um back up. Can I work a carvin' if I set in bed whilst ah'm whittlin', Doc?"

"No harm in it," said Doc. "Just lay down and sleep when you get to feeling tired. Which you will."

Doc gave Chester's shoulder a pat and left, deciding to skip breakfast to pay some sick calls, and Matt pulled Chester's knife and a stack of penny frontier stories from under the bed, gave him a thick hunk of firewood and spread newspapers on the floor, and set a steaming cup of ginger tea nearby.

"You goin' out again, Mr. Dillon?" said Chester.

"I'm goin' to see Kitty," said Matt. He said nothing about his intention to ask Kitty to breakfast with him at Delmonico's, as Chester had to fast that day and through the night on Doc's orders, and Doc would likely restrict him to milk porridge and soup the following day.

Matt nervously eyed the sharp knife in Chester's slightly trembling hand. "You sure you're up to whittling?"

"Ah'll take care," said Chester. "Um feelin' some feeble; not 'nough ta slice myself though."

Matt thought more on his idea as he walked to the Long Branch. He was sure his plan would not shock Kitty, though she might be surprised that he conceived it, and she could outright reject it as harmful. She'd doubtless never imagine that Matt would entertain such a notion, and neither had he before it invaded his thoughts. It must be on account of the season, Matt figured, wondering how Kitty would take his suggestion. Like Chester drinking a bottle of whiskey, just about anything could happen in summer and sometimes did.


	2. Chapter 2

Kitty stared at Matt, her eyes widening, then resumed eating her stack of griddlecakes dripping with butter and molasses. "I know it's a crazy idea," said Matt, "but I wanna know what you think of it, Kitty."

"Oh, I don't think it _crazy _at all," said Kitty. "It's me you're asking, Matt."

"I'm not asking you because . . . of that," said Matt, coloring. "I'd never ask you to do that, or anything close to it." Guilt clouded his face. He felt hot and ashamed, and wished he'd quashed the idiot idea, not shared a word of it with her. "Kitty, I'm sorry if what I said sounded like—"

"It didn't," Kitty interrupted him, her hand closing around his on the table. "I know you'd never ask me to do that. That's not what I meant. I only mean . . . what you _did _suggest, well, it wouldn't bother me, it'd be easy. I wouldn't mind at all."

"You _wouldn't_," said Matt.

"Of course not. Why should I?"

A small furrow appeared between Matt's brows. He didn't know what to answer.

"Matt, you're the last man I ever thought I'd say this to, but you're not making sense," said Kitty. "This is your idea, and you're the one uncomfortable with it, not me. It's fine with me as far as doing it goes, but I'm worried it might do more harm than good, and then I'd never forgive myself. I wish there was someone who might take an interest, but I can't think of a soul."

"Then you think this is a bad plan, Kitty?" Matt said hopefully.

Kitty thought a moment. "Well, maybe I'm making too much of it," she said. "I won't flatter myself it'll have any real sort of affect. I'll have to explain it so there'll be no confusion, yet make it clear I want to do it. Then it might help a little. I hope."

"You want to do it?" said Matt.

"If you mean will I like it, sure I will," said Kitty. "I mean, we've never done it, not so it counts, but I know it won't be unpleasant. I won't do it if you don't want me to, Matt. It's your idea after all, like I said. I really don't care one way or the other, except I want to help if I can."

"I'll leave it up to you, Kitty," said Matt. "You'll know if it's alright when the time comes."

"Talking so no one who overhears knows what we're talking about is harder than I thought," said Kitty. "It would've been easier having this conversation in my room with the door locked, only I was hungry."

Matt grinned. "So was I."

When Kitty came to visit Chester that afternoon, he grabbed the sheet from the foot of the bed, lay down and covered his head. He wore only his union suit, unbuttoned to the waist on account of the heat, a whiskery shadow coated his cheeks and chin, and his fine straight hair was mussed in wisps about his head. The ginger tea worked as well as Doc said; whiskey fumes sweated through Chester's skin as the tea cleansed his blood. Though he hadn't drunk a drop since the bottle last night, he smelled strongly of whiskey. The bed was littered with wood shavings and penny books, and a piece of wood sat on the floor with a roughly hewn bird's wing and half-body protruding from it.

"Let me see how you're doing, Chester," said Kitty. "I wanna talk."

"Ah'm sorry, Miss Kitty, I cain't," said Chester from under the sheet. "I'm a fright an' I stink. "Mr. Dillon oughter tole me you was comin', an' I'd a done ma best ta clean up some."

"I didn't think on it, Chester," said Matt from his seat at the desk.

"I don't care about all that," said Kitty. "It's expected with sick folk. I can't see how you are and talk proper with that sheet over your face."

"I'm mendin' right 'nough," said Chester through the sheet. "My head don't hurt no more. Ah'm a l'il weak though. Gotta take the bitters and peppermint every coupla hours to kill the bellyache."

Kitty took hold of the sheet, pulled it out of Chester's grasp and dropped it on the floor, which on account of his weakened condition was easy to do. His appearance concerned but did not alarm her. He was paler and looked slightly yellowish, and his face was thinner.

Chester looked up from his pillow at Miss Kitty, bright and pretty in her light green dress with darker green silk lace on the V-neck and sleeves, and her hat adorned with flowers and colorful feathers, like a bird from a far place in a land even hotter than Kansas, where spices are sold on every street. Miss Kitty wore fine white gloves with tiny pearl buttons on the wrists, smelled honeysuckle fragrant and smiled at Chester.

He slapped his hands over his brown eyes as though shielding them from the sun. "Oh Chester," said Kitty. "I have to see your eyes to talk to you."

"He's embarrassed, Kitty," said Matt. He pulled a chair near the bed. "You can have a seat there. Want some coffee?"

"Did you make it?" said Kitty.

"I've been practicing from Chester's instructions," said Matt.

Chester moved his hands from his eyes and sat up on the bed, resting against the wall. "Mr. Dillon's coffee tastes good as mine now, Miss Kitty. I learnt 'im jest a l'il."

"Is that so," said Kitty. "Well, in that case I'll try some." Matt handed her a cup and sat at the table. "I feel kinda bad drinkin' this, Chester. Matt and I are enjoying it and you can't have any."

"No, now, you go right 'head an' savor it, Miss Kitty. I kin have some day after tomorrow maybe when Doc allows. Got no taste fer it now anyways, nor food, with them teensy hairs sproutin' out ma tongue."

"I hope you can eat before too long," said Kitty. "So we can go on our picnic."

"Picnic?" said Chester.

"Mm-hmm," said Kitty. "Just you and me, Chester. No fried chicken or potato salad. We'll have food your stomach can take, like boiled chicken and bread and butter. Soon as Doc says you can eat something besides rice porridge and soup."

"That might be by day after tomorrow," said Matt.

Chester put away his whittling when Miss Kitty left, setting his mind not to take it up again until after the picnic. As Doc had ordered him to rest, he'd lie down and pass the time thinking on the picnic, what place he and Miss Kitty would choose and what they'd talk about. He'd dream of it, maybe.

Doc said the next morning that Chester could get up, but he had to take it easy and eat sparingly, light bland food only and no coffee until the following day, when he and Kitty would go picnicking.

Kitty packed chicken sandwiches, lightly sugared berries and a jar of lemonade. Doc loaned his buggy, and Chester walked to Grimmick's livery about an hour before noon. He'd risen early and gone to the barber for a bath and shave and haircut when the shop opened. Matt watched Chester through the marshal's office window as he limped down Front Street toward the stable, then Matt headed in the opposite direction, going to Doc's.

"That's all?" said Doc, when Matt confessed his plan, now in Kitty's hands. "How'd you think a little thing like that could hurt Chester? Good heavens, Matt, he's a grown man. I wish _I'd _had sour stomach and drunk that bottle of whiskey, and you'd hatched that plan for _me _instead of Chester. No man in his right mind would be hurt by that," said Doc.

"Kitty and I thought it might confuse him," said Matt, "and we still aren't sure it won't, Doc. I'll just have to trust that Kitty will know whether to go through with it or not."

"Of course she'll know," said Doc. "Kitty's a smart woman, and she understands Chester well as anyone can. She'll make it go fine, whatever she decides."

Doc snickered and shook his head. "You know it's odd . . . somehow I always figured they'd done it before, just light and easy like friends do. Not that I ever saw, mind you, but I wouldn't have thought anything of it if I did see."

"They never said anything like that to me, Doc," said Matt.

"Well they wouldn't," said Doc. "I'm just imagining it anyway, most likely. This troubles you, don't it. You're thinking of yourself, here." Matt looked intently at Doc without answering.

"It's your plan, remember that," said Doc. "And you only thought of it cause you know Kitty's the woman who can make it work. Maybe now you'll appreciate Kitty more. Chester and I don't take her for granted cuz her heart doesn't belong to us. You on the other hand have it locked up so safe, you don't even bother to hide the key."

Matt grinned. "The parson has nothing on you, Doc," he said.

Doc patted Matt's arm. "Don't fret on any of it, Matt," said Doc. "You and Chester and Kitty care too much for one another to let any of you get hurt. This heat's given me a powerful thirst. You feel like a cold beer?"

"Sure," said Matt.

Chester hitched Doc's horse to the buggy and drove to the Long Branch, where Kitty waited outside on the walk, holding the picnic basket. Chester climbed down and tipped his hat, smiling. "Miss Kitty. My, you look pretty. You always do, but today especial."

"Thank you, Chester," said Kitty, returning his smile. "You look like you're feeling better."

"I am. Tuk me a bath and spiffed up for our outing." He did look better, though he was still a shade paler than normal, there were half-moon smudges under his eyes and he'd lost some weight.

He took the picnic basket and put it on the buggy floor, then touched his hands to Kitty's waist to lift her into the buggy, and she put her hands on his shoulders. Kitty was small and slender, and he'd easily lifted her before, into a buggy and a wagon, and onto her horse. Chester picked her up, then quickly set her down, his face flushing.

"That's alright, Chester," said Kitty, slipping her hand in his. He helped her into the buggy, then climbed in on the other side and chirruped to the horse, which set off at a trot.

"Ah'll be strong as an ox again, no time," said Chester. "Doc give me a tonic to take regular." Kitty sucked in her underlip to suppress a burst of laughter. Tall yet lean with a spare build, Chester had never come close to having ox-like strength.

He was unusually quiet, though he looked cheerful and she knew her company pleased him. Kitty sensed the vitality had drained out of him, like unbeknownst to him, a part of his nature had gone missing, but it still lived, and she and Matt and Doc could help Chester find it and restore its spirits.

Kitty and Chester drove to a creek that rippled gently during planting season, ran froth and overflowed at harvest time, and turned to ice in winter. Under the summer sun, the creek had dried up, leaving dusty banks and a sandy bed studded with rocks. Chester looked more tired than when they'd left town, so rather than drive to another spot, they picnicked in the shade of a cottonwood tree.

"There aren't many young unmarried ladies in town this summer," Kitty said as they ate chicken sandwiches and drank lemonade. "I can't think of one, doesn't have a beau. They've all gone away, I guess. Dodge isn't the nicest place to vacation in summer. It's been a while since you had a girlfriend, Chester."

"More'n a year, maybe," said Chester.

"People move to town in autumn when the weather cools," said Kitty. "Hopefully you'll meet a lady then. I'll keep an eye out for newcomers."

"I'd be obliged, Miss Kitty. I would."

Kitty spooned the sugared berries into two bowls and handed Chester one. "You know, Chester," she said, "there're some nice girls working at the Long Branch. Pretty, too."

"They're nice to chat, and for sparkin'," said Chester. "But when I ain't had a lady for courtin' in a long spell, I don't want a saloon gal. I don't mean no offense, Miss Kitty, seein' as you was one to once. A gal. No woman could be finer than you irregardless."

"Thank you," said Kitty. "No offense taken. Some of my girls are painted ladies, but they can make a man feel less lonely. Times a man needs a woman whether he's lonely or not. There's no courting unless he comes to like her that way. To keep going strong, his body just needs a woman."

Chester reddened and looked away. "Gracious, Miss Kitty. I was speakin' of bein' lonely for a lady friend, to marry maybe one day. Ah'm long ago growed up 'nough to know what ta do 'bout . . . that other . . . need."

Kitty wanted to laugh, but held it in. "Chester," she said. "Matt said this is alright with him. He's the one who thought of it."

Chester looked blank, then blanched, his eyes wide. _"Miss Kitty!" _he whispered.

"_No," _said Kitty. "That's not what I mean at all. Don't be shocked, Chester. You know Matt and me better than that."

"Oh. My goodness, Miss Kitty," Chester said breathlessly, and climbed to his feet.

"Where are you going?" said Kitty.

"We best git back to town," said Chester. "Ah'm so dreadful embarrassed, I jest . . . wanna drag ma bedroll under a bunk in the jail cell, shut the door and hole up thar."

"But I haven't told you what we talked about. Matt and me. Come back and sit down, Chester."

"Wahl . . . ." Chester regarded her uncertainly.

"It's alright," said Kitty. "It's just me."

Chester warily limped back to the picnic blanket and seated himself. "If it's secret like 'tween you an' Mr. Dillon, I shouldn't oughter hear," he said. He tore out handfuls of the long prairie grass, winding it round his fingers.

"This involves you, Chester," said Kitty.

He looked at her curiously. "What," he said, ripping up more grass.

Kitty leaned toward him and whispered in his ear, then pulled back and looked into his eyes. Red color flooded Chester's face and he froze, speechless. He knew he couldn't move or speak until Miss Kitty's enchanting blue eyes let him.

Her eyes moved closer until they filled his vision and the prairie with Doc's horse and buggy disappeared. Chester felt Miss Kitty's soft lips on his, then she pulled back again and looked at him appraisingly.

He hadn't returned the kiss, and he looked dazed. As Kitty expected, the kiss was easy and pleasant, and that was all. It felt nothing like kissing Matt, which heightened all her senses and exhilarated her, body and soul. When she kissed Matt, she wanted nothing more than to go on kissing him, make love to him, share his company every minute of every day.

Then Chester wished he'd kissed Miss Kitty back. He'd always wanted to kiss her, and now that Mr. Dillon had generously suggested it so Chester could do it with no shame, he'd missed his chance.

Kitty saw the disappointment in his eyes and kissed him again. Chester felt her small hand warm on his shoulder, and her other hand behind his neck, and eagerly responded. Miss Kitty's soft moist mouth, flowery clean scent and warm nearness made Chester want to keep kissing her. He felt her hands on his chest gently pushing him away, and knew he had to stop.

He sighed and gazed with half-closed eyes at Miss Kitty. The familiar empty feeling that had plagued him since the onset of summer was gone. At times no more than a twinge like a passing hunger pang, other times it was like a thirst that no amount of water—or beer or whiskey—could quench. When he tried to drown the feeling with a whole bottle, it only made him sick.

Now the loneliness was gone, and Chester felt sleepy and comfortable. In the years he'd known Miss Kitty, he wondered if a kiss would make him love her as more than a friend, but looking at her now, he saw her no differently, though he was grateful she'd made him feel much better. He liked being with Miss Kitty more than anyone; he looked forward to seeing her each day, and when a day passed where he couldn't see her, he missed her.

He knew now—had maybe always known—he was not in love with her, any more than she was with him. Which made him feel even easier and settled, as Mr. Dillon and Miss Kitty loved each other, and it wouldn't be right if Chester loved her too.

Kitty saw his eyes clear, and he looked himself again—guileless, kind, for the most part carefree. She knew at once when a man went sweet on her, which happened all the time, and she saw no sign of it in Chester. Kitty saw too that Matt's plan had worked, and she smiled at Chester, who blushed yet again.

"I could do with a nap 'fore we head back, Miss Kitty," he said. "I'm a l'il wore down from the excitement."

"You go on and lie down," said Kitty. "I don't mind sitting here a while."

Chester stretched out on the blanket, closed his eyes and was asleep in a minute. He fell asleep faster than anyone Kitty knew, dozed during the day and slept late in the morning when he got the chance. His chronic somnolence stirred a vague concern in Kitty. She and Matt and Doc worried often about Chester, which made her appreciate Matt's heartiness and steady head. She sat quietly thinking of Matt while Chester slept.

Knowing Chester would head to the marshal's office straightaway to see if Matt needed him when he and Kitty returned to town, Matt waited in the office for Chester to show up. Matt wondered if Kitty had gone through with their plan, fretted that the kiss might have confounded their friend, yet hoped it helped him.

Matt was at the desk reading the _Wichita Eagle _when he heard Chester's limping gait on the walkway accompanied by cheerful humming. Chester opened the door and stepped inside, took off his hat and hung it on the peg while the marshal watched him.

A few hours in the sun had restored his summer-brown coloring, the circles under his eyes had vanished and his face was no longer drawn. The droopiness had left his brown eyes, which were wide open and soulful again.

Unaware that he was grinning, Matt continued looking at Chester, who met his gaze and started a little. "Mr. Dillon."

"Chester." Matt saw the telltale blush and knew. The kiss had revived Chester's spirits and health better than any tonic.

"Doc wants to take a look at you," said Matt. "Since it's your first day out, eating solid food and drinking coffee."

Chester put his hat back on. "Never felt better, Mr. Dillon," he said. "I hope Doc says I kin have a beer if I promise not ta git drunk in a goodly spell. Jest thinkin' 'bout drinkin' too much makes me shiv'ry."

"I'll walk with you far as the Long Branch," said Matt.

Doc knew who his visitor was when he heard the careful halting steps on the stairs. Doc was curious to discover if Kitty kissed Chester. Though Doc had no doubt the kiss would help Chester mend, he wanted to see how well it worked. His first look at Chester convinced him the kiss had wrought miraculous improvement.

"Doc," said Chester.

Doc moved close to Chester and stared up at him. "Chester, by _thunder_."

"What?" said Chester, then realized Doc knew about the kiss. Mr. Dillon must have told him. Chester fumbled with his hat and looked at the door as though to flee Doc's office.

Doc gripped Chester's arm at the elbow and pulled him toward the table. "Don't run off," said Doc. "Come on over here and let me check you out."

"Ouch," said Chester. "How kin you squeeze so hard fer havin' sech a small hand, Doc?"

"You still get belly pain or headache?" said Doc.

"No."

"Sound as a new dollar except you're a little too skinny," Doc said. "Don't stuff yourself, though. Just eat what you can hold."

"Can I take a beer, Doc?" said Chester. "Jest one, an' another tonight, maybe. I won't get drunk no more, leastways not for a long time."

"Don't see why not," said Doc. "Might even do you some good. A beer, that is. Not gettin' drunk." He patted Chester's shoulder, followed him to the stairs and watched him descend. "Remarkable," Doc murmured, so Chester couldn't hear him. "Kitty Russell is some woman and then some."

When Matt pushed through the batwings the Long Branch was empty, except for Sam behind the bar and Kitty sitting at a table sipping coffee. Kitty rose as Matt came in. She glanced at Sam, who was arranging mugs and whiskey glasses, his back to the bar.

As the marshal tipped his hat and opened his mouth to greet Kitty, she touched a finger to her lips and inclined her head in Sam's direction, then cupped her hands around Matt's head and pulled it down, lifted her face and kissed him, pouring all her desire and love for him into it. He took her in his arms and fervently kissed her, then remembered where they were and pulled out of it.

"Did you kiss Chester like that?" Matt whispered, only half joking.

"No," Kitty whispered seriously. "I love him differently than you, so I couldn't. That's not what he needed; it would've confused him if I kissed him that way. For him it was gentle and affectionate, and it made him much better if I say so myself. Did you see him since we came back from the picnic?"

"I did," said Matt. "He's himself alright. He'll likely come in for a beer after Doc checks him out."

"Then we need to talk before he gets here. Sit down. Sam, bring Matt a beer.

"Matt, I know summer is our time to be together, but Chester hasn't had a girl in over a year. He wants a lady, not a saloon gal, and I don't think there's one unmarried lady suited to him in Dodge now. New folks always come to town at harvest time; hopefully he'll meet a nice girl then, and you and I can spend more time alone when the trail herds stop coming through for winter," said Kitty.

"You wanna spend more time with Chester, then?" said Matt. He'd anticipated fishing and picnicking and riding with Kitty the rest of the summer, just the two of them.

Kitty nodded. "He'll get too lonely again otherwise, Matt. For a lady's company, and he might drink another whiskey bottle and get sick and we'll have the same problem. I can't call myself a lady, but I know how to act like one."

"You'll meet the need, no question there," said Matt. "Chester would rather pass the time with you than anyone, except when he's courting a girl.

"Maybe you'll fit me in this summer now and then." Matt made his tone light to mask his dejection. He felt no jealousy; he and Chester were too close for that, and Matt knew how loyal a friend Chester was, and how much he respected Kitty. Even the marshal's dislike for his own idea of Kitty giving Chester a kiss stemmed more from a sense of possessiveness which Matt concealed and found impossible to vanquish, as it was borne of his love for Kitty.

Kitty took Matt's hand where it rested on the table and pressed it in both her hands. "You won't miss me, Matt, I promise. Summer's a long season; I'll have lots of time for you and Chester."

Matt wanted most of her time, although he knew she was right about Chester getting too lonely without a good woman's company, and there was no woman in Dodge better than Kitty. "You're right, Kitty," said Matt. She smiled, holding his hand. Content to gaze into each other's eyes, she and Matt could sit comfortably by the hour without speaking, which they rarely had the chance to do.

Chester walked in then, and she let go of Matt's hand. Feeling unexpectedly awkward about joining them, Chester moved toward the bar. "Come sit with us, Chester," said Kitty. "Chester will have a beer, Sam." Chester smiled in relief, approached the table and pulled out a chair.

"I'm buying," said Matt, and reached in his pocket for a dime as Sam set a full mug in front of Chester.

END


End file.
